Page 47 of The Wrong Heart

Just cowardice and bare bones.

Heaving in another rattled breath, I keep scrolling through my contacts until I settle on his name. My thumb hovers over the six letters that are bleeding together through my tequila haze and near-death adrenaline spike. But it’s the combination of those things that has me doing the unthinkable. I click his name.

It rings. And rings. And rings.

And then…

“Hello?”

There’s a familiar annoyance in his tone, gruff and gritty, and it quiets me somehow. My angry tears fade into whimpers, my breath hitching as I try to catch it.

“Melody?”

It occurs to me that he’s never said my name before. He’s never properly addressed me, and I’m not sure what that means, or why it even matters. I swallow down a dry lump and force out, “Amelia didn’t answer.”

A few silent beats go by, and I wonder what he’s thinking—what he’s piecing together from my elusive response. I’m about to explain, to let him know I’m reaching out, to tell him how pathetic and wilting I truly am, but his long sigh filters through the Bluetooth.

He understands.

He knows.

“Text me your location.”

—TWELVE—

Itrudge through heavy sheets of rain, my shoes sinking into the mud like quicksand.

Motherfuck.

Why am I here? Why the hell did I even answer my phone?

Melody’s number was saved into my contacts from our string of messages about her bathroom reno that I completed. When her name flashed across my screen as I was finally responding to Magnolia after hours of stalling—because fuck talking about my damn heart—something in me felt compelled to pick up.

“Amelia didn’t answer.”

Jesus Christ.

I’m pretty sure rage is what’s dragging me towards her stalled car in the middle of this fucking monsoon, soaking wet and ready to blow a fuse. Her silhouette is visible through the drenched glass, her fingers curled around the steering wheel, head bowed.

I pound my fist against the window when I approach, causing her to nearly hit the ceiling. Melody clasps both hands over her heart, scared shitless, then finally pushes the door open.

“Get out of the fucking car,” I order, watching her red, puffy eyes slowly roll up to me. “Now.”

Her gulp is almost audible as her throat bobs and two shaky legs step out. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t want her apology. I just want her to move faster.

Snatching her wrist, I pull her to her feet and yank her away from the car. She squeaks, then stumbles toward me… and it’s then that I smell it.

She reeks of fucking liquor.

I drop her arm. “Are youdrunk?”

Melody refuses to make eye contact with me, and instead, dips her chin and wraps her arms around herself like a security blanket, shivering as the rain floods her. “This is a mess.” She looks up at the sky, letting the rain douse her face as she releases a pained breath. “I’m a mess.”

She wobbles and sways, talking to me but looking to the stars for answers. I grit my teeth. “You’re an idiot.”

This gets her attention. Melody whips her head towards me, eyes narrowing with disdain. “Excuse me?”

---